


Some Assembly Required

by rabidchild67



Series: Five Times... [7]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Board Games, Hurt/Comfort, Moz is a great friend, Multi, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of conversations between Moz and Elizabeth. And board games.</p>
<p>Takes place after Point Blank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Assembly Required

**Battleship**

When they let Moz out of the hospital, Elizabeth took him to Sunday. Sunday was cramped and it was a fourth floor walk-up in Alphabet City, but it was close to a lot of services he’d need and the dim sum place downstairs was one of the best in the city. Also, it had running water. The visiting nurse she’d hired had insisted.

“Here, lay down,” she said, helping him onto the bed. She plumped up the pillows, noted the strain around his eyes, knew he was in pain. She wordlessly handed him a pill and glass of water. He eased himself into a seated position against the head of the bed and looked up at her.

“You don’t have to do this, Elizabeth.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “If I thought you’d survive it, I’d have brought you to my house.”

He laughed, winced in pain. “Don’t think the Suit would approve.”

“Uh, no. Comfortable? Why don’t you try to sleep.”

He nodded; the pills were already knocking him out. She took his glasses from him and threw an afghan her mother had crocheted over him. He leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, hours had passed and the sun was going down, but Elizabeth was still with him. She sat in the easy chair, reading. “What time is it?” he said, his voice a croak.

“Nearly 7:30. Are you hungry? Mrs. Ma sent up some soup dumplings.”

“Sure,” he said, struggling to sit up. She brought over a tray and set it in front of him, laid a napkin across his chest. When he was done, she helped him to the bathroom and then settled him back on the bed. “You should get going,” Moz told her. “You’ve got a husband who will want you home.”

She shrugged. “The night nurse comes at 9:00. I can hang out until then. You bored? I brought a game.” She crossed the room and retrieved a tote bag she’d left near the door. Returning to the bed, she removed a long, flat box from inside and showed it to him with a smile.

“Battleship!” he exclaimed. “I loved that game when I was a kid.”

El smiled and lifted the box lid. She handed him his board and little ships and set the pegs into an empty teacup from the side of the bed. They each set up their sides and El let Moz take the first move. “H9.”

“Miss. F6.”

“Miss. G9. Have you seen Neal lately?” he asked, his manner suddenly tentative.

“Miss. Not in about four days. Haven’t you?”

Moz looked down at his hands. “Yes, but briefly. It’s like he’s not _there_ when he’s there. It’s been hard.”

“I think he feels he’s to blame for you getting shot,” she told him. “E5.”

“Hit. I _don’t_ blame him. I’d do it again. E9.”

“Miss. I know.” She squeezed his knee. “ _He_ knows. I think that’s the problem. E4.”

“Hit. What do you mean?”

“Well, suddenly this whole music box business has gone out of his control. It’s gotten violent and he’s at the center of it. The people he cares about are being killed and hurt and while there was no way anyone could have anticipated what would happen, he hopes he can prevent it from happening again. If that means going it alone or cutting people off to protect them, then I could see him doing that.”

Moz nodded, thoughtful; Elizabeth could be very perceptive. “Dumbass.  D9.”

“Hit.”

“Has Peter seen Neal?”

El shook her head sadly. “I’m not sure he wants to.”

“Really?”

“He’s still so very angry. Neal really hurt him, I think, but he’s not admitting it. He’s lashing out at everyone. It’s not healthy. E3.”

“Hit. This whole thing isn’t healthy for either of them. Listen, Elizabeth, Neal will do something stupid again. I am not being dramatic; it is a foregone conclusion. Peter needs to be there. He needs to stop him when he does. _I_ can’t do it this time.”

El could sense he was getting upset. She grabbed his wrist and he looked up at her. “I know,” she whispered. They were silent for a minute. “Your turn.”

“D8. How do we get them to listen?”

“Hit. An intervention. I’ll get them into the same room together and let nature take its course. They’ll either kill each other or make up. Either way, it’ll be done. E2.” El continued.

“An excellent plan.” Moz brightened, looked down at his board. “Ah! You sank my battleship.”

 ----

**Scrabble**

El visited Moz every day for a week, the two of them plotting Peter and Neal’s reconciliation over board games and dumplings. Today was the day; they’d convinced Peter that Moz had remembered something about his assailant, and told Neal that he had another theory about the code in the music box. Each man was coming over at 2:00.

Moz sat in the easy chair, El in a folding chair, a card table set up between them with a Scrabble board on it. It was El’s turn. Her tiles spelled NERVES, and Moz nodded. “And the V is on a double letter score. Thirteen points.” He recorded her score. “You think they’ll go for it?”

She blew air out of her mouth, ruffling her bangs. “They have to, right? They’re no good working alone.”

“Yeah.” There was a knock at the door and it opened. It was Peter. Early as usual.

“Hi, honey,” El greeted him.

He crossed the room to kiss her hello, a surprised look on his face. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Just keeping Moz company while he recovers. I told you.”

“Playing Scrabble?”

“Mm-hmm. Something to pass the time. Keep the brain engaged.”

“She used to play in tournaments, you know,” Peter warned Moz. “I’d watch myself if I were you.”

Moz looked at Elizabeth, mock-outrage on his face. “So you’re a ringer, eh?”

She smiled. “I haven’t done a tournament since college.” Moz put the letters ERY at the end of the previously placed TRICK and El laughed.

There was another knock on the door and Neal entered. “Sounds like someone’s having fun,” he said. His smile faded as he saw who was in the room. “Peter.”

“Neal.”

They both looked reprovingly at Moz and Elizabeth, who returned their look with determined expressions. “What? You didn’t see this coming? You two need to sort this out,” Elizabeth said.

They looked at each other, and Neal turned away, heading for the door. “Wait!” Moz said, his tone sharp. “Come here.” Neal complied, surprisingly, like a well-trained pet. Peter wandered away as he approached. Elizabeth was stuck in her seat between Moz and Neal. She held her breath, wondering if she should allow them some privacy. Moz pinned her with a look that said, “ _Stay_.”

“What?”

“Look at me, Neal. This stops today. You know you can’t do this on your own. Look what it’s brought us.”

Neal looked away, and Moz saw the pain in his face. “Look at me,” he repeated. “I didn’t say that to hurt you, it’s just a fact. And while I’ve always backed your play, I can’t help but think we’re doing this the wrong way. As much as it pains me to admit it, nothing we’ve done on our own has accomplished as much as when we’ve worked with Peter and the team. I know it and somewhere inside that stubborn, impetuous head of yours, you know it too. Now say you're sorry to Peter and work this out or I will never see you again.”

Neal and Elizabeth both gasped to hear him say it. “Moz…” Neal began.

 “I mean it.”

Neal looked him in the eye, but he didn’t back down. Finally, Neal took a deep breath and a step back. “Fine. Have it your way. Fine.” He walked across the apartment to talk to Peter.

Elizabeth’s eyes followed him, watched as the reconciliation between Neal and Peter began, haltingly at first, and not without a few shouts along the way, but at least they were talking. She looked back at Moz. “Was that a bluff?” she said, not a little awed.

Moz winked, sat back in his chair. “It’s your turn, I think,” he said, indicating the Scrabble board.

Elizabeth laid her tiles down. ALLIES.

“Oh, you sure you want to waste a triple word score on a six-point word?”

“I’m sure.”

 ----

**Mouse Trap**

Mozzie and Elizabeth continued their meetings over board games, a standing date for Wednesday afternoons. Months passed as Moz made a full recovery from his gunshot wound, the music box mystery was resolved, and Julian Larssen and his bosses were finally apprehended.

On a sunny but brisk late-March afternoon, Elizabeth removed a tray of scones from the oven and smiled when she heard a knock at the back door. She let Mozzie in and took his coat, leading him into the dining room, where there was a surprise waiting for him. She made a ta-da gesture.

“Mouse Trap!” he exclaimed, pouncing on the cardboard box that lay on the table.

She laughed at his reaction. “It’s a first edition from Ideal – I found it on eBay. Happy early Birthday!”

“Awww!” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her to him. “You spoil me, Elizabeth.”

“You set it up and I’ll get the tea.”

Moz removed the box cover and thrilled that all the orginal parts and the instruction pamphlet were still in the box. He opened up the board and laid it on the table, set out the cards, the pieces of the trap, mice, die. El returned from the kitchen with a tray laden with tea fixings, a basket of tiny, buttery scones, a dish of honey butter and one of blackberry jam. Moz set everything out and poured while she returned the tray to the kitchen. They sat down, played and chatted, enjoying their tea and catching up on the previous week.

“This jam is delicious,” Moz commented. “Where did you get it?”

“Neal made it, if you can believe it.”

Moz sat up straighter in his chair. “I can believe it.”

“Wasn’t that sweet? He said there was a special at the market and he made extra for me. I think he must’ve been bored or something. The cases Peter’s been pulling lately have been mostly mortgage fraud and you know how that goes.”

“Oh, of course,” Moz said.

“Last week, he brought me some Irish soda bread for St. Paddy’s Day to try. He said he was testing a new recipe.”

“Was it any good?”

“Possibly the best I’ve ever tasted. He owes me the recipe.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Moz said, hiding a smile in his teacup.

Elizabeth noticed. “What? What’s making you smile so, Mr. Haversham?”

“Neal has always had a domestic streak in him. He used to make Kate pies all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and he’d make truffles for Alex before that.”

Elizabeth was slowly realizing something, something she didn’t want to put into words at the moment. “He’s quite the, uh, pastry chef, isn’t he?”

“He is. Oh-ho, your little mouse appears to be within my grasp!”

He cranked the lever on the mouse trap and set it in motion. The lever went and the boot swung forward, kicking over the tiny bucket. The marble within was released, traveling down a chute and landing in the hand-shaped tool, releasing a larger marble, which fell through the hole in the bathtub onto the seesaw and launching the diver at the cage, and…nothing happened. The mouse cage stayed at the top of its pole, quivering slightly but nonetheless unmoving.

“Oh, denied!” Elizabeth exclaimed, laughing and slapping him on the arm.

Moz laughed with her. “Did this thing ever work? I can’t remember it ever working when I was a kid!”

“Total trap-fail. I win! More tea?”

“Please.”

\---- 

**Connect Four**

“I hate this game,” Elizabeth muttered as Moz won yet again.

“You’re not even concentrating,” he pointed out. He pulled the lever, releasing the checkers onto the table.

“It’s haaaard,” she whined, exaggeratedly. She looked at him and he cocked his head, his “ _Really_?” unspoken.

He grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong? You’ve been distracted for weeks.”

She looked up at him, her cheeks turning pink, and then looked at the table. “It’s Neal. He’s leaving.”

“No he’s not. He hasn’t decided _what_ he’ll do once the anklet comes off. Besides, it's months away.”

“Has he said anything to you?”

Moz shook his head. “Uh-uh. I don’t think he knows himself.”

“I’ll miss him if he goes,” she said, her voice quiet.

“So give him a reason to stay.”

She looked up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Shall I spell it out? OK." Moz touched his fingers together, ticking items off a list. "He’s been hanging around your house every weekend for months now.”

She blinked.

“He bakes for you and even planted your flower beds.”

Nothing. “He made you a freaking playlist for your anniversary, Elizabeth. He’s always been a show-er, not a talker. He’ll never say it, but Neal is in love with you both.”

“No!”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you, of all people, can be this dense. You’re the smartest woman I know.”

Elizabeth sat back, her mind whirling as she thought through all the little indicators she’d clearly missed over the last months, years. Neal had not only been her husband’s partner, but a steady fixture in their lives, accompanying them on weekend getaways from time to time, cooking dinner for them, taking them to art exhibits and plays. These gestures were more than appreciated, they were reciprocated; Elizabeth often saved a visit to the latest buzzworthy restaurant for a night when he could accompany them, and Peter often chose wines he knew Neal liked. 

She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh God, Moz, I think we’ve been dating for years and never knew it. Shit, have we been leading him on?”

Moz smiled, amused. “Only if you don’t have feelings too. Do you?”

“I think I could.”

“Does Peter?”

She thought about it, once again mentally thumbing the Rolodex of her memory. Little gestures and looks between them, how proud Peter looked when Neal solved a case, or the way he was always touching him – a hand on a wrist to gain his attention, or the way Peter allowed Neal to precede him through doors. These were exactly the types of gestures Peter used with Elizabeth, and she was sure now of their deeper meaning.

“I think he must.” She stood up suddenly, and began to pace. “This is all a little too much to take at once.”

“Well, think it through, because it’s a big decision to make. But don’t take too long. You will need to give him a reason to stay, because I don't think he'd make the first move here.”

She nodded, her eyes uncertain, but he could see a determination there to see this through to a conclusion – whichever one would work best for all parties. For once in his life, Moz hoped he hadn’t overstepped, but if he was honest with himself, he thought the Burkes would be good for Neal. And he wanted his friend to be happy.

“So, you want to play another round?” he asked, indicating the game.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No. I really hate this one.”

“It’s just as well. Once you figure out the math of it, you can’t help but win or draw. And I have figured out the math.”

“Cheater!” she exclaimed, pointing at him.

“Genius,” he corrected, and he wasn’t referring to just the game.

\---- 

**The Game of Life**

“Oh, yay, The Game of Life!” Elizabeth said as Mozzie pulled it out of his bag. While he set it up, she went into the kitchen and fetched some refreshments, wine, cheese, crackers, sparkling water. She brought them to the living room and sat beside him, handing him a glass of wine.

“How was Spain?”

“Heavenly.” Elizabeth and Peter had just returned from a long-delayed honeymoon with Neal, who had shown them all his favorite places in Barcelona. Seeing that city through his eyes had been a revelation for her; the architecture had never been more vivid, the beaches never more beautiful, the food never more delightful. “Hey, Neal didn’t really forge half the Miró sculptures in the museum in Montjuic like Peter says, did he?”

“The sculptures? No.”

Elizabeth laughed, but Moz didn’t, so she let it drop. She spun the wheel to begin, and they played for a while, choosing college and career paths as they wended their way along the board. When Elizabeth stopped to get married, Moz handed her two blue pegs for husbands and she laughed. “Yes, I suppose I’ll need those now!”

They played on until Elizabeth landed on a child space. “A baby girl, congratulations!” Moz said, handing her a pink peg.

“I’ll need one of _these_ instead, I think,” she said, picking up a blue peg and twirling it between her thumb and forefinger.

“No!” Moz exclaimed, hugging her to him. “I should’ve suspected something was up when you were drinking Pellegrino!” He let her go and beamed at her. “You’ve got the Suit’s bun in your oven. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“Actually, the baby’s Neal’s, and we’re over the moon.”

“I’m going to be an uncle!”

“More than that, Moz. We’d like you to be the godfather, if – “

“I’ll do it!" He smiled like a fool at her for a minute until something occurred to him. "Of course, I’ll have to take a personal hand in the child’s education.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
